Letters
by Arissta Kequet
Summary: On one anxious night of research in the dorms, Harry receives a mysterious letter from an unknown source. When the letter is revealed, it opens up a surprising opportunity that he must decide whether to take or to pass on. Review por favor!


The fireplace crackled and sparked behind Hermione who had the Daily Prophet laid out across the table, predictably preferring to focus her energies on the practical than the leisurely. Other tables were occupied with duos and trios of students playing wizarding games, but Hermione, Harry, Ron, Neville and Ginny were pouring over the Prophet.

Hermione's pupils sped back and forth so quickly as she read that Harry was getting ill just watching her. It had become a nightly tradition of theirs, scouring the Prophet before bed. Since the horrific ambush that had taken place on the outskirts of Hogsmeade the following week, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had taken to sitting by the fireplace late into the night, hoping to find some clues as to the next battle in the Second Great War (as the sensationalists at The Quibbler had named it), and any hints of new horcruxes. Of course, no one was silly enough to come right out and divulge important information in the Daily Prophet, but Hermione mentioned that she had read somewhere that battles and skirmishes were somewhat predictable. She believed that reading in between the lines, and picking up on context and subtext, an astute reader could actually discern the next location of a battle.

While Harry still thought that battle sites were horribly unpredictable, he had to admit that predictability lay with the Order of the Phoenix, who via their secure two-way mirror communications systems had passed along very little information to him at all. Since Dumbledore's death no one at the Order had been willing to divulge information to the students. Even Remus Lupin had clammed up, leaving many things to their speculation.

Occasionally, as they had done after the Hogsmeade attack, someone from the Order would contact Harry with a few trivial facts and the same simple instructions. Just enough information to shut us up, Ron had complained and Harry had been forced to agree.

"Goblin Rebellion…Death Eaters Whereabouts Yet Unknown," Ginny read aloud from the headlines, "elusive witches and wizards continue to evade aurors, despite reader tips… Gee," she said with a little laugh, "imagine that. Death Eaters outsmarting the readers of this rubbish."

Ron muttered an agreement while Hermione shushed them and tutted about some witch in Dover who swore she'd seen Antonin Dolohov flying a broomstick over her pumpkin patch. It was getting quite late, all the other students had gone up to their dormitories, with the exception of the Creevey brothers who were off having an argument in the corner. Harry caught himself yawning, and had to cover his mouth to keep Hermione from seeing.

Quite suddenly, Harry heard a tapping at the window. Hedwig, who hadn't much to do since they had employed the two-way mirrors for communication was fluttering outside the window, obviously distressed and agitated. Harry stood up quickly, bumping the table with his legs and almost upsetting the Prophet.

"Hedwig!" Harry exclaimed, running to the window.

Harry was thankful that the common room was so deserted, for Hedwig's appearance and her famous owner, made her somewhat well-known. She would have caused quite a stir if she had flown up any earlier. As it was, the Creevey boys were barely rattled by her sudden arrival.

"Oh, Hedwig!" exclaimed Ginny as Harry opened the window and let the owl in. A few drops of red blood were staining her pristine white coat. Hermione and Ginny rushed to Hedwig and began cooing over her, checking her for any more injuries.

Hedwig hooted forlornly and nibbled affectionately on Harry's arm. He patted her absent-mindedly as he removed and unrolled the bit of parchment.

"But, it's blank!" exclaimed Ron, who was gaping over Harry's shoulder.

"And I haven't written anyone at all," Harry mused, still staring rather blankly at the parchment.

At that Hermione stopped fussing over Hedwig and came over to join Ron and Harry.

"Give me that," she snapped, and pulled out her wand so quickly that Harry could've sworn she'd conjured it out of thin air.

"Aparecium!" she said, loudly and clearly. However, the bit of parchment stubbornly remained blank.

"Probably hexed," warned Neville. He was eyeing the parchment nervously.

"I don't like it either," Ginny announced quite suddenly, "in fact, you should throw it away directly."  
"Are you daft?!" asked Ron, incredulously as he snatched the bit of parchment from Harry, "Someone could be trying to send a secret message to Harry!"

"But anyone in the Order would've used the mirrors if they wanted to talk to Harry," Hermoine explained, her usual snappishness towards Ron even more prevalent in her tone, "I think Ginny is right. Either get rid of it, straight away, or bring it to Professor McGonagall."

Harry looked back and forth from Ron to Hermione who were at a stand-off, each glaring at the other with jaw set. Just as Harry was about to chastise them, he heard Ginny's voice.

"Oh, knock it off, you two," Ginny said wearily.

"We'll bring it to McGonagall," said Harry, sighing heavily, "I just wish I knew how Hedwig got it."

He folded the parchment up and made to put it into his pocket, but Hermione stopped him with her hand on his arm.

"Harry," she said patiently, "give it to me and I'll see if I can make it reveal itself."

"Hermione-" Ginny's voice sounded warning.

"And we'll bring it to McGonagall in the morning," she finished, firmly. She gathered up the Daily Prophet and said goodnight, then headed up the stairs to the girls dormitory.

"I should take Hedwig to the Owlery," said Harry, rubbing his scar absentmindedly and reaching for Hedwig.

"I'll take her," said Ginny, her small voice full of sympathy. Harry's headaches were more frequent now, and his scar throbbed perpetually. Often small acts that showed others' pity for him made him angry, but tonight he was just so tired and uncomfortable he was only thankful for Ginny's friendly gesture.

"Take her," Harry said, and Hedwig hooted a good-bye as Harry, Neville and Ron trudged up the stairs to the boys' dorms.

"What do you reckon that Parchment is?" Ron asked Harry and Neville as they made their way slowly upward.

"Dunno," said Harry, "not likely a mistake, is it?"

Neville shook his head in agreement.

Ron pushed the door to the dormitory open and stood to face Harry square.

"Do you… You don't suppose it is Dark magic, do you?" Ron asked Harry, his freckles standing out against his white face. Harry looked from Neville to Ron and back again and shrugged.

"I suppose it could be. But well, we'll know soon enough, if Hermione figures it out, and if not, McGonagall will have it."

They all nodded and crept into bed.

The room was silent-a warm breeze, foreshadowing the fast-approaching summer, wafted in from the open windows and stirred the covers. Harry rolled over in his sleep, one leaden arm falling off the bed and hovering above the floor. Ron snored a little and muttered unintelligibly; his red hair was mussed up and there were imprints of the folds in his pillow indented on his cheek.  
With a squeak of the door, two huddled figures crept into the room and approached each bed. The two girls reached out and shook the sleeping teens awake, and as they departed from dreamland, they fumbled around gracelessly for their bearings.  
"G-ginny?" Ron croaked, blinking rapidly. "This is the oddest dream I've ever had." He had always been slower to wake than Harry, who was already sitting up and reaching for his glasses.  
"Not a dream, you dolt," Hermione hissed angrily. She was still in her uniform, Harry saw, and he wondered sleepily if Hermione and Ginny had slept at all that night. "We've decoded the message," she continued, carefully averting her eyes as the two boys got out of bed to don their cloaks. "And we need to tell you what it says before it's too late."  
"Too late?" Harry asked, halfway through pulling on his cloak. "Too late for what?"  
Ginny turned towards him slightly, now that he had dressed. She looked rather anxious, in Harry's opinion. "The letter-the letter was from Bellatrix, Harry…we know where she is now."  
If Harry hadn't already been sitting, he probably would've fallen down. "Y-you know?"  
"Yes, we know. The letter was written by her and addressed to her husband; she said she would be hiding in Knockturn Alley until the morning." Hermione pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "I know you'll want to run after her like Ginny did, but we have to tell McGona-"  
"What time is it?" Harry interrupted, running a hand through his hair distractedly.  
"T-time?" Hermione said, flustered. "Why, it's-half past one, I'd gather."  
"Then we don't have time to go to McGonagall. We have to go now." Harry's brows were furrowed; his eyes determined and his stance predatory.  
Hermione wrung her hands together and bit her bottom lip. "Harry, honestly, take a moment and think-"  
"Think?" Harry exploded. "Think about what? About how she killed my godfather? About how she threatened to kill me? What is it you want me to think about, Hermione? The fact that we could stop a Death Eater if we hurry?"  
Hermione didn't say anything, but her face was stony. The silence hung in the air like a thick wool blanket, prickling in all of their ears and making Harry's head pound. He sighed heavily. "I'm-I'm sorry, Hermione, it's just-"  
"No." she said abruptly. "We can't go. We have to tell the Order, and let them deal with it. I refuse to go!"  
"You know they'll just go without you, 'Ermione…" The four students gasped and turned as the sleepy voice issued from one of the nearby beds. A dark haired head stuck up from beneath rumpled covers.  
"Neville?" Harry said incredulously. How much had he heard?  
"Understand why you'd want to go after her though, Harry…" Neville slid from under his covers, looking rather timid in the dark room. "I guess I'm in the same boat as you."  
It took Harry a moment to recall why exactly they were on the same boat. "Oh. Then, would you-like to, come with us, that is?"  
"Harry!" Hermione's sharp voice cut through the air. "You aren't actually going to chase her down, are you? The Order-"  
"The Order can go hang itself!" Harry snarled, fed up with the conversation. "We're going after her and that's that. You can stay behind if you want. I'm going, and so're Ron and Neville." The two aforementioned boys nodded their heads rapidly, Neville already pulling on his cloak over his pajamas.  
"So am I."  
Hermione swiveled around to stare at Ginny, her mouth in an "o" of surprise. "Ginny, I told you-"  
The younger girl sighed, and with a shake of her red hair, squared her shoulders and said firmly, "I might be a year younger than you but I can do this. I'm going with them." Her chin was tilted up, and Harry mused that it was perhaps the most confident he had ever seen her.  
Hermione opened and closed her mouth, thoroughly miffed, before flushing red and then lifting her head and muttering, "Well, if you'd like to go and risk your lives, go ahead. I'm going straight to Professor McGonagall." And with that, she turned on her heel and swept out of the room, the door banging shut behind her.  
Harry and Ron looked at each other. "Bugger her," Ron muttered angrily, still miffed by what had happened earlier in the common room. "Let's go."  
Harry hesitated for a moment before he felt a rush of anger surge in him. Didn't Hermione understand how important this was to him? And Neville-didn't she understand their viewpoints, why they had to do this? He furrowed his brow, angrily brushing his thoughts away as he pulled out his broom. Ron was already doing the same, and Ginny had been holding hers the entire time. Neville stood awkwardly, and Harry realized that he didn't have a broom of his own. "Ah…Here, Neville, we'll borrow Seamus', he won't mind…" Digging through the other boy's belongings, Harry felt a stab of guilt, but ignored it as he pulled out the broom and handed it to Neville.  
"We can't get out through these windows," Ginny realized. "They're too small, even for me."  
Harry stopped, thinking for a bit. "Let's head towards the owlery then, I think that their windows are bigger." He rummaged around in his bag and pulled out his cloak, ignoring the surprised whispers from Ginny and Neville. "It won't fit around all of us," he whispered.  
"Well, Neville, you could pretend you forgot the password and you were heading to McGonagall's to ask her," Ron suggested. Neville looked very offended at this, and Ron hastily amended, "I mean, you haven't forgotten it in a while, but if we really can't think of anything else…"  
"Oh all right," Neville sighed, slipping out from under the cloak and opening the door. "But we better not see Professor Snape."

They clambered up the stairs of the Owlery, each hissing to the other to keep quiet, or watch themselves. Harry thought it was a miracle that they hadn't been caught. Presently, they arranged themselves haphazardly on their broomsticks, with Neville looking very frightened indeed. Harry tried to smile to encourage him, but every time he caught Ron's eye he knew that Ron was thinking exactly the same thing he was. The only time they'd seen Neville on a broomstick was in first year, and that had had disastrous consequences.

"Er, Ginny can take lead," said Harry, sizing up the group, "Neville behind her, and Ron and I will take up the rear. We should fly pretty high so as not to be seen. With all the trouble out there, people will likely mistake us for Death Eaters."

"We'll be the source of the next Daily Prophet tips," laughed Ginny. The joke seemed to ease them all up a little. Harry watched as Ginny flew out, and then saw to Neville who was hovering just fine, but with some trepidation.

"Come on, Neville," Harry encouraged, "you're doing absolutely fine… we'll be in London in no time."

Ron shook his head at that, and Harry realized just how far off he was. It would take them hours to fly to London, especially on the old model brooms that Ron, Neville and Ginny were flying. He shuddered, trying not to think about the trouble they'd be in upon their return to Hogwarts.

They flew high over the trees, racing in with the clouds. Harry and Ron were trying to keep one eye each on Neville and the other on Ginny (who was using the four points charm as not to lose her way). Neville's flying was mediocre at best and dangerous at worst. He could not seem to keep one altitude, and twice Harry thought he saw his hands slip along the broomstick.

A few minutes along and Harry looked right and saw Ron speeding up next to him,

"Harry, this is not on," Ron said quietly, just loud enough for Harry to hear, "Neville's rubbish at flying, he could get himself killed."

Harry nodded. He didn't want to have to abandon their mission, but going after Bellatrix wasn't worth his friend's life. He zoomed up to Ginny and shouted at her to take the group down.

Landing was rough to say the least. Neville all but crashed to the ground, even with Harry riding next to him and steadying his broom. They were in a silvery moor, with soft ground and plenty of moonlight to see by.Neville looked positively miserable.

"You'll have to go on without me, I reckon," he said, sadly.

"Well, we can't fly any further."

"We're not making good enough time anyway," Ginny pointed out, astutely, "I have us just south of Hogsmeade, and we've been riding for ages it feel like."

They all stared at each other for a moment before Neville suddenly brightened up.

"But I know exactly what we can do! South of Hogsmeade, right? I thought this moor looked familiar. Gran knows Griselda Marchbanks and she lives right around here. In fact, yeah, that's her house over there. She'll be connected to the Floo Network for certain, and I doubt anyone is watching her fire. We could break in and get to London by Floo!"

"Break in?" Ginny asked, her voice betraying her nervousness.

"I don't see any other way," Harry said, grimly.

"Come on Ginny," said Ron, "you're heading out to take on a Death Eater and you're going to be frightened of breaking in to some old witch's old house?"

"I'm not afraid, Ronald," said Ginny, frowning seriously.

"Okay, okay," Harry interrupted, trying to cut Ginny and Ron off before they could get into a huge sibling's spat, "we'll break in. Floo to Knockturn Alley and find Bellatrix that way."

"Yeah, and we already know Knockturn Alley's got a Floo gate since Harry ended up there before second year!" Ron pointed out. They were hurrying across the moor to the house now, and speaking in hushed tones.

Neville made short work of opening the front door up with an "alohomora". They crept inside and made it to the fire place before Ginny realized their mistake.

"But we haven't got any Floo powder," she hissed.

"Oh, it's uh, over here," said Neville and he reached up on the hearth for a small box and knocked over one of the small curios that decorated the mantle. The china smashed as soon as it hit the stone floor and Harry saw a light come from the stairs.

"HURRY," he yelled, his need for speed outweighing his need for silence.

Neville tossed Harry the Floo Powder and he handed it off to Ron.

"Go Ron," he yelled.

Ron stepped in, threw down the floo powder and screamed,

"Knockturn Alley!"

"Who's there?!" a creaky old voice was calling from the stairs, "heading to Knockturn Alley, you no good scum!?"

Neville looked frozen with fear as Griselda Marchbanks' voice filled the air, so Harry grabbed him and tossed him into the fireplace.

"Knockturn Alley!" Neville yelled.

Harry could hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Ginny!" he yelled, but it was too late: the old witch had caught Ginny in a trip jinx.

"GO!" Ginny bellowed, and Harry had no choice but to step into the fireplace.

He was momentarily disoriented upon his arrival in Knockturn Alley, and he nearly tripped over Ron and Neville who were standing, much to Harry's dismay, in frozen shock. Bellatrix Lestrange was far from taken off guard.

In fact, it appeared she had been expecting them. Harry felt his wand fly from his hand as Bellatrix almost lazily muttered, "Expelliarmus." He was unarmed, frightened and ashamed. Harry's mind raced as he realized exactly what had happened. They'd walked straight into Bellatrix's trap. He had brought Ron and Neville right into a Death Eaters lair, and no one was coming to save him.

Meanwhile, Bellatrix rose up, smiling with a twisted smirk at the sixth year Gryffindor boys.

"Well, well, well. What have we here? Wee little Harry Potter and his ickle gang coming all on their own to defeat me! I'm honored by your presence," she said. "Have a seat."

None of them moved, though Neville was shaking oddly. Bellatrix raised her wand and pointed it at Ron,

"Imperio!" she said, and suddenly Harry saw Ron sit right down and knew he'd been hit by the curse.

"Got my letter then, did you, little Potter?" she asked in a horribly sing-song voice. Her features were twisted in a crude mockery of a cloying mother's love. "Little babies, come to play, come to try their hand against the Dark Lord's most faithful servant?"

Harry was searching the room frantically for his wand, but it had skittered too far away. He knew he had no hope of reaching it in time. He was completely at Bellatrix's mercy.

"Come to avenge the death of my dear cousin, Harry?" Bellatrix continued, this time laughing with an insane little tittering giggle, "And you, ickle Longbottom boy? Come to get revenge for your parents? I hear they're beyond all help… tragic, you know. They were so brilliant, and they pleaded so beautifully when we applied the curses-"

Without warning Neville leaped. Harry saw his friend, spring loaded, jumping onto Bellatrix, wandless and defenseless with a wild yell.

"Neville!" Harry shouted. He could see Neville making a desperate grab for Bellatrix's wand, and he rushed forward to help.

Harry never made it to Bellatrix. He heard a crack, as though someone had disapparrated, and he was thrown forward onto the ground, hearing a sickening crack as he landed… at the same time he saw a horrific green flash and heard the last syllable of the killing curse clearly.

"NEVILLE!" he shouted, twisting, trying to get up. He saw Neville, lying face down, horribly still, and saw Minerva McGonagall, Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebot standing with wands at the ready. Bellatrix, meanwhile, had scurried away like a spider, her wand still out in front of her, and she was slashing madly with it. Whatever spell she was using was causing the Order members to leap aside, and none of them seemed able to get closer to her. McGongall had gone to Ron, transfiguring a candelabrum on the mantle into a sort of shield and setting it in front of him. Meanwhile, Lupin, Tonks and Kingsley continued to set after Bellatrix.

Harry watched, unable to move from his spot on the ground, a terrible pain in his shoulder paralyzing him. Bellatrix spun wildly around, and faced him, bringing her wand out, leveling it at his face.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" she screamed, and Harry scrunched his eyes closed. He felt nothing, but saw the green flash illuminate the room. When he dared to open his eyes he saw McGonagall weak, on her knees, clutching the red stone, and Bellatrix muttering and backing away.

Tonks and Lupin rushed at her, trying to take advantage of her momentary confusion, but their curses hit only the wall after Bellatrix apparated from the room. Harry was vaguely aware of watching Lupin cross over to him, and feeling his hands on his shoulder, touching it softly and muttering about St. Mungo's. Then Lupin mumbled a spell and Harry's world went blissfully black.

Harry sat up blearily, blurry images dancing in front of his vision. Groping about for his glasses and setting them upon his nose, he gazed sleepily at his surroundings. He grabbed blindly in the dark for the wand on the table to his right and whispered, "Lumos." He felt a terrifying pitch in his stomach before realizing that it wasn't his wand that he was holding. Letting out a shaky laugh, he turned to his left and picked up the wand on that cabinet, whispering the spell again. This time, it filled the room with a soft glow.

It was a hospital, he knew that—but it wasn't at Hogwarts. _St. Mungo's?_ He thought, shaking his head to rid it of the cobwebs that had set in during sleep. He looked to his right, greeted by a shock of red hair. Harry grinned. _Ron. But where's—_

Before his thought could be finished, Harry's heart dropped past his stomach, as the memories explaining why that brunet boy wasn't lying in the hospital with them rushed back, filling his mind with the ineffaceable images. He bent over his knees, clutching the sheets tightly in his fists. The fear, the treachery, and, for the third time in his life, that blinding green light. His balled up hands rose and fell, punching the mattress of the bed in an agonizingly unsatisfactory gesture. "Damnit," he growled, his voice hoarse from the potion-induced sleep. "Goddamnit."

And he felt the tears fall, one after another, trailing hot tracks down his cheeks. Hot tears in the memory of Cedric, and Sirius, and the Longbottoms; tears in memory of his parents, and especially, now, in memory of Neville, who might have been the boy-who-lived…who died because of Harry's foolishness.

He swung himself out of bed. What was he doing in that thing, anyways? He wasn't hurt, he hadn't been hit with a curse, and he hadn't died. Harry felt a rush of uselessness as he stood in the middle of the room. Walking silently up to the door and pushing it open, Harry stepped out into the hallway.

Standing there in the pristine whiteness was a haggard looking Lupin, Mrs. Weaseley, and Ginny. They all looked up when Harry exited, and Mrs. Weaseley began to sit up to fuss over Harry. He glared at her and snapped, "I don't need that." Guilt coursed through his veins upon seeing the woman's hurt look. He broke eye contact, unable to bear the sight of the woman he'd considered to be his surrogate mother looking wounded because of him. Meeting Lupin's eyes, Harry knew that his old professor understood what was going on in the boy's head.

"Come on," Lupin said quietly. "I'll take you to Minerva."

The room was dimly lit, a contrast to all of the bright lights and white walls of the hallways of St. Mungos. Harry was glad. He didn't feel like bright lights and white walls at the moment. The new Headmistress approached Harry, patting him on the shoulder, understanding that it was better to not say anything than to say the wrong thing. She opened her fisted hand, and inside her curled fingers was a blood-red stone, crimson and gleaming in the harsh hospital light. Harry's thoughts immediately flew to the Sorceror's Stone that had changed his life so much in his first year, though he knew it would be impossible—Flamel was dead, and the Stone gone with him.

"This stone," McGonagall began, "Posesses more powers and contains more secrets than meets the eye." She looked at Harry with an expression that was a mixture of concern, matriarchal concern, and sternness. "And it may be the key element in helping us win the war."

Harry stared at the small stone. Just like him, a great expectation had been placed on it—something that seemed far too daunting for the stone to ever take on. He half expected the stone to come alive and exhibit some phenomenal power to convince him that it would, indeed, aid him in the final battle. But it continued to remain stagnant on McGonagall's hand. It was, after all, a stone. "When—when she was going to kill me…" Harry's voice was hoarse, and he shied away from saying Bellatrix's name, not in the same way many shied from the name Voldemort, but because of the pain that was associated with the word—the deaths of his friend and godfather.

"It was, indeed, the stone that saved you," McGonagall said, finishing Harry's sentence. "And it is this stone that will save you again. The times are changing, Harry…they are darkening, and you must remain strong. I'm sure you realize now that the letter was a trap—" at this, Harry winced at his own foolishness. "Bellatrix had seen the hatred and bitterness in your eyes at the Ministry last year, and she exploited it for all it was worth. In such circumstances, Harry, it is always better to keep your head—" here, McGonagall raised a brow dryly. "—than to lose it."

Harry exhaled sharply. He was in no mood for jokes and bad puns, but he did know that what the woman was saying had more than just a grain of truth to it. Wordlessly, she handed him a list. On it was written a long list of names—casualties of the war. Closing his eyes, he gripped the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. "Headmistress, if I may…" he gestured toward the door, and McGonagall nodded.

Harry fled, glad to be out of the confined room. He walked aimlessly, scanning the paper for what seemed like hours, but must have been more like minutes, until a half-closed door caught his eye. Stepping closer, he saw the neat words "Longbottom, Frank & Alice: Room 03B55" engraved on the plaque in front of the door. He glanced down at the name "Longbottom, Neville" scrawled on the bottom of the parchment and his stomach twisted with guilt.

Harry pushed the door open all the way with a quivering hand, almost sighing in relief as he saw the two prone figures lying on their beds. Pulling up a chair with a loud and irritating squeak, he sat between the two beds, arms on his knees, head hung low. He began to talk. His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't used it for ages.

"He was a good friend," he began, a little haltingly, a little awkwardly. "In the end, he was trying to defend your honor, you know. Decent fellow, he was." His voice broke, and Harry tried to keep images of Cedric, Sirius, Neville, Dumbledore and his parents from rising in his mind. "It—it could have been him. He was supposed to be the one –the one who would be able to live a normal life. I was chosen so he could live freely, _damnit_! But he's dead now…he's dead. And, and I'm so sorry, so bloody sorry—" he could feel the tears slipping down his cheeks now, "That he had to know me, because it's like, like I'm a bad curse or something. Everyone I know seems to disappear. Who'll be next?" he asked the wall in front of him harshly. "Ron? Hermione?" He grabbed fistfuls of his own hair and took in a shuddering breath. "Your son, you would have been so proud of him. He was a fighter to the end, though no one'd have expected it of him…"

It was as if Harry's throat had closed. There were so many emotions ripping about inside of him—anger, grief, hollowness, all meshing with the memories of Dumbledore, Sirius, Cedric, and Neville. His mouth opened and closed once, and abruptly he realized he wouldn't have to talk. They wouldn't hear his words anyways. So he sat and thought, and let the tears come, allowing himself to cry for every little thing he'd never allowed himself to cry about before.

His shoulders wracked with sobs remembering the way his mother had screamed; his hands clenched thinking about Voldemort's tone as he condemned Cedric to death; his muscles tensed as he thought of Sirius' last expression—a fading look of amusement, slowly being replaced by shock—and he blew his nose on his sleeve as he remembered the way Neville had charged at Bellatrix without a thought.

A warm hand was on his shoulder. He turned around to see Mrs. Weaseley's kind face hovering above him, and he leaned into her matronly embrace, wetting the shoulder of her dress with his tears. She made some small shushing noises, softly leading him out the door and back to his room.

Ron was sitting inside. He looked at Harry, and seemed as if he was torn between reaching out and offering comfort and giving him privacy. The matter was resolved as his mother softly called out to him, and beckoned him towards the doorway. The door closed. Harry was alone.

He thumped his head lightly against the headboard, ignoring the sharp feeling of pain. Curling up into a little ball, and wrapping the tangled sheets about his body, he fell into a dark and restless sleep.


End file.
